


Test Drive

by orphan_account



Series: Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Yeah, yeah,” Bitty blusters, ducking away. He slides toward the back seat, handle half pulled, and bites his lip when he asks, “So, are we doing this or what?”"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Test Drive

Ninety-Five North is deserted on a Sunday night, free from the rush hour traffic that can bump the commute from Providence to Samwell up from fifty minutes to as long as an hour and a half. This time of the evening (too early for Bitty’s liking, but later than he knows he should have stayed), it might take forty minutes to get to the Haus. And that’s allowing for the reliable hover of the speedometer’s needle at five below the posted limit.

“You know, strapping on a pair of skates during a shootout is going to get more than just George on your case next year.”

His eyes slip embarrassingly quickly to Jack’s profile from the window, and Bitty smiles a little when he says, “My internship prospects keep looking the way they are, I wouldn’t mind if they started on me right now.”

Bitty’s dim career prospects draw a chuckle from Jack, and the shadowed hollows of Jack’s cheeks draw butterflies to fill the cavity of Bitty’s chest.

“As long as you’re okay living a life of crime, I’m sure the boys on the team would pay good money for your pies.”

“My pies are too good to be sold on the black market like some kind of contraband, Jack,” he cries. The conditioning coaches had loved Eric right up until the moment they found out he was the one responsible for the collective crash in the middle of Saturday’s afternoon cardio. Bitty likes to think they still love him, but his confections are no longer welcome at the arena.

Jack controls the wheel for a moment with his left hand and taps his knuckles casually against the bare skin of Bitty’s leg. In mid-October, he should know better than to wear shorts unless he’s training, but it had promised to be such a beautiful morning when the morning sun filtered amber through the fall leaves that frame Jack’s guest bedroom.

The tiny goose bumps along his legs that persisted even when Jack turned the heat on low settle at the touch of skin. But when Jack’s fingers uncurl, ticklish until his palm is flat against the top of Bitty’s thigh, the warmth is exactly what he needed.

“I think it’s cool that you’re interested in so many things your future’s still open,” Jack says. His voice is low, carrying to Bitty only because Eric’s had practice listening for this same hushed cadence all last year: whenever Jack chirped someone subtly, or when he’d struggle to understand the plot of the weekly movie without letting Holster know he wasn’t following. “You’ll get there, and if it takes a little longer than you thought—“

Bitty catches Jack’s hand and squeezes when it pulls away; he treasures the easy softness that relaxes the sharper corners of Jack’s features when Bitty does it.

“You won’t be alone while you figure it all out.”

Since August, he’s spent three weekends—Friday afternoon to Sunday—visiting Providence on his own. Jack’s come up to Samwell twice, and the whole team has made two field trips to see him in return, but Bitty’s the only one who’s a _guest_. Who _spends the night_.

Every weekend he fills himself up with the contentment of Jack’s company and attention, he’s a basin sink; and every time he climbs into the seat of Jack’s SUV to go back to his Zimmermann-less reality at Samwell. he feels like the plug’s popped right out of his drain and all his stored up glow leaks out on the drive.

Jack’s words are so sweet, and beyond the shadow of a doubt he means exactly what he’s said—he’s Bitty’s friend, and he’s the kind of person who takes care of his friends; his team. 

The final drops of his leftover bliss circle and disappear down the pipe because Bitty knows Jack doesn’t mean the overtones Eric hears. The kind of _not alone_ that Bitty will never have from a straight boy, no matter how good friends they are.

“This has been good, right?” Jack asks out of the blue, and Bitty jumps at the interruption, mid-melancholy.

“This drive?”

The flickering highway lights catch Jack’s frown. His hands pulse on the steering wheel, and when Bitty takes a second to check, cautious, prudent Jack is edging his way up to seventy-five miles per hour.

“We’ve seen a lot of each other, yeah? Between Skype calls and, you know. You’ve been to see me every other weekend or so,” Jack grinds out, unwavering focus on the road ahead of him. They have ten miles until their exit.

Chills scatter along Bitty’s neck, and he tucks his chin tight against his chest.

His tongue gives him trouble when he mumbles, “If I’m bothering you, I can stop coming down. I know you’re busy, but I—“

“No, Bitty, that’s not—I want to keep seeing you as much as I—“ With the silence, there’s a blur in Bitty’s peripheral vision. A stolen glance shows Jack’s massaging his temple with the hand that isn’t steering, and it probably blocks enough of Jack’s field of vision that Eric can watch him safely again.

“It’ll be harder to see each other when the season starts and I’m on the road, but the last couple months haven’t been so bad, have they?”

“Jack, what in the hell are you talking about?”

Both hands back on the wheel, Jack grimaces and pushes through a breath that flares his nostrils and squeezes his chest so tight Bitty can see the compression.

“I didn’t know if it would work if we weren’t in the same place. I’ve never been with anyone without being _with them_ the whole time, but I really think this could be good.” Jack refuses to so much as turn in Bitty’s direction, and it’s tearing Eric’s muscles apart at the seams to hold still until Jack’s finished his thought. “I still miss you when you’re at school, but I think that’s a good thing. You give me something to think about that isn’t my next game, and I want that.

“It’s a lot to ask, but it’s like I said: these past few weeks were good.”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty warbles. “Have you been _test driving_ our relationship?”

His wince is confirmation enough, but he’s a brave enough man to add, “It’s pretty rough when you put it that way, but I guess… you’re not wrong.”

Four more exits to Samwell, and Bitty’s going to climb out of the car just for something to do with the sudden frenetic fire under his skin.

“I need you to take this exit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but I’m feeling a lot of it,” he says. He expects more of a fight, but Jack pulls of the ramp without further argument while Bitty clenches and unclenches his fists around his seatbelt.

“Where am I going?”

“Park. I need a word with you, and if you don’t look at me while we have it, I swear on my mother’s triple berry cobbler recipe, I’ll—“

He thumps into the door when Jack cuts a sharp turn into a Wal-Mart parking lot, parking smack in the middle like he’s never seen a horror movie in his life. The lights of the store are dim in a way to suggest it’s closed, and the lot is otherwise empty. Eric feels safer here, calmer in the pooled darkness between the lampposts, thoughts of impending monster attack leaving him unruffled.

“Alright, out of the car!” he orders, steady and firm. He unbuckles smoothly, letting the fastener clatter against the car frame when it retracts, and because Jack isn’t moving quickly enough for his liking, Bitty swoops in and ejects his seatbelt, too.

Jack’s bemusement leaves him quiet, but he’s obedient at least. When Eric marches from the passenger side to Jack to stand toe-to-toe, Jack is just letting his door fall shut.

He wanted to scold Jack a little, he thinks, for leaving Bitty out of the planning stages of their relationship, but the best he has when he’s got a full-frontal assault of sheepish Jack Zimmermann is fond irritation.

“You should’ve told me,” he grumbles.

Jack’s arms slide up for a second before he remembers his pants don’t have pockets; he has nowhere to hide his hands.

Eric takes pity on him, folding them together between their bodies, and wrapping them in his own.

“You’re not asking me for anything I wasn’t ready to give, but I had no clue it was something you wanted! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jack’s square shoulders lose some of their shape and his frame slumps in toward Bitty.

“If I couldn’t make the commitment, I didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing.”

Swaying in, Eric rests his forehead against Jack’s breastbone and buries his flustered smile behind the tangled mat of their fingers.

“You can’t guarantee a happy ending, sweetheart,” Bitty chides.

New weight on the crown of his head brings with it the seeping warmth of Jack’s breath when he says, “No, but if we’re doing this, you deserve the best chance I can give it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bitty blusters, ducking away. He slides toward the back seat, handle half pulled, and bites his lip when he asks, “So, are we doing this or what?”

He’s counting on the dark to back up his bravado, but he can see every detail of the steep slope of Jack’s brows and his wide eyes, so luck isn’t on his side. Jack’s lips stick for a second before they part for him to run his tongue out to their inner edges, and Bitty takes a handful of Jack’s t-shirt without a second thought.

“Can we? Jack, I wanna touch you. Just, if you want.”

“In the car?” Jack asks. His voice cracks.

“You’re the one who went and bought a roomie SUV. I’m just making use of all my options.”

Jack presses him into the car, reaching past to the latch, and he wraps his arm around Bitty’s waist, pulling away and opening the door in one calculated motion that leaves Eric grinning. As Jack backs onto the bench, the shadow of the bottom half of his face eases for a second and the sly quirk of his lips is all Bitty can see.

It seems too easy to crawl after him, to press his legs around either side of him and slide forward until Jack’s body cradles Bitty’s like the receiver of a landline.

He’s stymied by the only remaining distance—the empty space between their lips where Bitty knows now he’s welcome. It’s only that it’s different to be aware that Jack wants to kiss him back and to be confident in it, and Eric’s frozen, captivated by Jack’s teasing grin and his soft stare.

“Can you please do this part?” Bitty whispers.

Once Jack slides his chin against the edge of Eric’s jaw and presses a loose kiss against his lower lip, Bitty lets the last of his reservations slip away.

“Oh,” he gasps, breathing more of Jack in while he has the chance and sliding his tongue out along Jack’s mouth to chase his breath. When hands big enough to span from Bitty’s hipbone nearly to his spine pull him in, Eric smiles against Jack’s cupid’s bow.

The pressure against the fork of his legs is warm and defined through the fabric of Jack’s pants. He’s so careful, but Jack squirms just the right way under Bitty to make it clear he’s already hard and looking for more and closer and now.

“Bitty, we’re in public,” he says, lifting his hips to help Bitty slide off Jack’s black track pants. His protest is even less convincing when Eric tips into Jack’s space, his right arm wrapped tight around Jack’s neck, fingers tangled in the hair at the crown of his head. Staccato gasps break on the shell of Bitty’s ear when he tucks his face into Jack’s neck so he can pull himself out of his lap. With a combination of reaching around and dragging the soles of his shoes against elastic (when Jack won’t grant Bitty the slack in his arms to bend any further backward), he strips Jack from the waist down.

“Don’t see anyone here but you and me,” says Bitty against the salt of Jack’s pulse point. He closes his fingers around Jack’s erection, grinding down against his own hand as he squeezes and tugs Jack up. Silky skin heats under his touch, like the fine tremble that just set into Jack’s muscles is nothing different from a winter shiver.

When Jack plants his feet and pushes out of his seat, Eric doesn’t register anything at first but that gravity sends him sliding down until their hips are so close his hand is pinned motionless between them. Jack strokes Bitty’s hair relentlessly, pulling him close enough to kiss.

It’s the second time their lips touch—the second time Eric tastes the tenor of Jack’s tiny moans and the second time Bitty breathes love and affection straight to Jack’s heart instead of letting it suffuse the air between them. His left hand aches when Bitty releases a fistful damp brown hair, but the measured circles of Jack’s working jaw are a balm under Eric’s fingers.

“Jack, Jack—condoms? You gotta—“

“The trunk,” Jack mumbles into Bitty’s retreating smile.

“We’re _so_ not done talking about how much of the groundwork you laid for this relationship without me.”

He has to double over the backrest to reach the drugstore bag in Jack’s otherwise empty trunk, and Jack doesn’t make things easier with his nose nuzzling the crook of Eric’s hip and his open palm splayed against the back of Bitty’s near thigh.

“Lord,” Bitty huffs when he hooks the plastic bag with a pinky and slumps back into his seat. “You even got a bottle of KY? I’m surprised you haven’t made me a key to your place yet.”

Jack remains quiet.

“You didn’t.”

“I had one made for Lardo, too. It wasn’t just a—“

He has to lean over in that moment. He has to cup Jack’s cheeks and run his thumbs against the stark edge of his cheekbones, and he has to kiss him for a third time. Eric has to worship the arch of Jack’s cupid’s bow with soft brushes of his lip and tongue because Jack has to know that even though it’s too much right now, Bitty understands.

It would be overwhelming for both of them to have it said out loud that it’s more than a crush or the beginning of a friendly fling. More than being boyfriends to each other, Bitty has Jack’s trust as surely as Jack has his own. It’s too much, but it’s perfect.

He shimmies and twitches out of his shorts without once pulling away from Jack. With tiny chuckles, Jack humors him and supports Bitty’s shifting weight with a hand on his ribs.

The laughter stops when the bottle of lube clicks open.

Jack watches him with wide eyes. Eric settles on his knees, heels of his shoes digging into the curve of his behind, and slicks his fingers without breaking their gaze. One finger goes in quick, and Bitty traces his rim with a second, dampening the tight ring of muscle.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” Bitty urges Jack.

“I’d rather touch you.” The words crackle and fade half-formed by Jack’s dry mouth, but Bitty understands well enough.

“Soon,” he promises. “Play with your nipples.”

Jack’s head lolls back onto the headrest.

After a hiss of air taken through his teeth, though, Jack reveals his stomach with a tease of a lift of his t-shirt. He swipes his thumbs over pink peaks, dragging and catching skin until his nipples are hard, in high relief against Jack’s pale chest. As he stretches himself with a third finger, Bitty whimpers.

“Lick your fingers.”

He licks the pads of his first two fingers and his thumb without hesitating and pinches. He twists the shiny, tight skin until it goes white and red, and Bitty’s jaw hurts with the need to suck on Jack’s nipples.

“Stop staring, Bits.”

Jack’s voice is brittle—it doesn’t strike with the full weight of a chirp, but it undoes Eric something fierce just the same.

“Put that condom on and we’ll talk.”

The covered head of Jack’s dick disappears under hands and latex, quick enough that he might’ve laughed if he weren’t watching Jack touch himself. It’s one thing to see the car on the sales floor, but it’s another thing to see someone take it for a spin.

“Okay, Bitty, can—“

Jack reaches out and pulls at Bitty with determination.

“You’re not worried about the public anymore?”

“Bittle. Now, please.”

A whiny quality sneaks into Jack’s request. He has half a timbre of bratty desperation and half of plain begging, and his tongue wets his lips feverishly. Eric kisses the shine away, rocking into Jack for a brief fourth time, then crawls into Jack’s lap facing the driver’s seat. Warm air wafts between Bitty’s shoulder blades before Jack leaves kisses against the knob of Eric’s spine.

It takes both of them to guide Jack until his tip presses between Bitty’s cheeks against his asshole, Eric holding himself open until Jack begins to sink in with a tremulous gasp.

Eric tries to be patient with this—he wants to savor the first moments of heat and sharpness that swirl together with the smell and sound of Jack. His first real sense of how Jack feels sliding into him deserves all the reverie Bitty can spare.

He lowers himself slowly until his calves and thighs are flush, spread on either side of Jack’s lap. Jack massages the crux of Bitty’s thighs on either side, thumbs stretching to stroke hipbones. Their mouths meet over Bitty’s shoulder with more fondness than finesse.

“Bitty, I want to take my time. I swear, but _fuck—_ ”

This boy wants to give him the key to his apartment.

This boy is _so cautious_ , but if he wants to throw caution to the wind, then Eric will be damned before he gets in the way.

“Gimme a second,” Bitty says.

He circles his hips once, eases up and down in liquid circuits, and shivers when he slides back down onto Jack at an angle that puts pressure on his prostate. Jack misreads his tension, closing sweet, soft hands around Bitty’s dick.

The electric shock to his gut sends Eric up like a piston. Jack blathers in clipped franglais, hips bucking to follow Bitty, and that’s really the end of that. Eric holds on for dear life with a grip on either side of the driver’s seat. He bounces in Jack’s lap, feeling the flex of Jack’s quads almost as keenly as his own.

Jack palms the skin of Bitty’s belly, snaking under his hem to lie against bare skin. His right hand closes tighter, slippery with precome, and works a rhythm as bruising as the beat of skin smacking against skin every time Jack thrusts up to bury himself deep as he can.

“I’m so close,” Jack says.

“Come on, come on,” Bitty replies. He swivels his hips and clenches in encouragement, cooing at the sudden hiccup in Jack’s snapping hips. “Honey, you gotta come for me, please.”

Jack could be saying words, but it sounds to Eric like a stream of nonsense fricatives as Jack pounds up and up like he can’t get too close. Bitty holds still, lets Jack loose until his frantic muttering breaks off into a gasp.

He strokes the cords of muscle he can reach while Jack tightens with his orgasm, running his hands up tight obliques or tense forearms without much thought. He misses Jack’s fist around him like the radio edit of Anaconda misses its key constituents.

“Bits.” Jack hooks his chin over Bitty’s shoulder and mumbles in his ear. “Give me a hand, here?”

Nonplussed, Eric lets his body follow Jack’s prodding. He shifts into the other side of the passenger bench, turning to face Jack with a question on his tongue, but a sixth kiss stymies him.

Jack lowers Bitty onto his back with languid, loose-limbed motions, and keeps him pinned with no more resistance than his body weight.

Then, he crawls back, kneeling in the footwell, and Jack has his mouth stretched open around Eric’s leaking cock. His tongue wicks the messy slit, and Jack’s lips tighten around the shaft. He puts pressure on Bitty’s hips to keep him still, one arm barred across them, and adds the sure stroke of his hand to the pull of his mouth.

“Oh, Jack, _Jack_ ,” gasps Bitty. He squirms, hands tight in the mess of Jack’s hair, pulling away because he can’t quite figure out how to use any other words. He wants to say, _you don’t have to_ , and _you feel too good_ , and _I’m so damn lucky_ , but Jack glances up through his eyelashes.

His mouth is full of Bitty, and his eyes are so easy, relaxed and sleepy, and Eric comes in sharp spasms down Jack’s throat.

“Jack, come here. Oh, my God, c’mere.”

“Pants first,” he says. Jack’s delivery is smooth, but his voice is all gravel from sucking Eric off. It’s the best sound Bitty’s ever heard.

The absurdity of getting dressed after car sex with Jack Zimmermann—his new boyfriend—isn’t lost on Eric, but it’s so much less important than Jack’s taking his hand and guiding him out of the car. He scoots out after Jack, hardly with his feet on the asphalt of the parking lot for half a second before Jack tilts his face down to meet Bitty. He prods the seam of Bitty’s lips with his tongue still tasting sharp like come, and Eric wraps his arms around Jack’s neck to keep him there a few precious seconds longer.

“I need to take you home now,” Jack says after a moment.

“You don’t happen to mean Providence?”

The last leg of the drive passes awfully fast considering the car smells like sex and Bitty is sitting through it with his briefs on backwards. The weight of Jack’s thumb on his wrist messes with Bitty’s perception of time.

“One more kiss for good luck?” Eric asks when Jack pulls up to the curb. The lights are on in the house, and that means facing the Scylla and Charybdis of his team captains on the other side of the door.

“Since when is eight a lucky number?” Jack asks mildly.

“I cannot believe you’ve been keeping count,” Bitty says. “You’re something else, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Eric unbuckles his seatbelt and gets as far as opening his door when Jack catches his chin softly.

Their lips brush slow—hardly moving—for half a heartbeat.

Jack grins when he sits up, his whole face boyish and silly with the strength of his smile.

“Eight’ll be our lucky number.”

Bitty hums.

“I like nine better.”


End file.
